


how many times do i have to say i'm sorry

by Hoovahhoopah



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2483051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoovahhoopah/pseuds/Hoovahhoopah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some season four business. In which Emma's apologies lead to totally accidental dating. Which should be weird, but it's not. Also in which Emma buys Regina a grotesquely extravagant gift for someone who isn't in love with her. At all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the saddle that broke regina's back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coalitiongirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coalitiongirl/gifts).



> happy belated birthday mari. this is for you.

It starts with a lot of text messages. All of which go unanswered. 

 

It ends with something like a proposal and Emma’s collection of leather jackets in the front hall closet nestled between Regina’s Burberry coats.

 

—

 

“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?” Emma’s hunched over the diner counter, phone clutched in both hands. “How many ways can I say I’m sorry? I’m just really sorry.”

 

Ruby rolls her eyes, slides Emma’s tab across the counter, “You’re obsessing and it’s stressing me out.”

 

“Yeah, imagine how I feel.”

 

She hasn’t heard from Regina in days. No one has. But she keeps texting instead of trying to torch the bridge to the ground.

 

“Maybe just give her some space. How would you like it if your boyfriend’s dead wife showed up? I mean especially if you killed said wife. Yikes.”

 

Emma’s drawn out suffering sigh can be heard across town.

 

—

 

“How many ways can I say I’m sorry?” It’s week three. Emma’s hunched over the kitchen counter, phone still clutched in one hand. The other hand is wrapped around a hard cider she found in the fridge.

 

“Don’t you dare send her an edible arrangement,” David’s got a cider in his hand too. “That is tacky and immature. Unlike this fine hard cider.”

 

“I’m guessing you’re speaking from experience on that one. And Dad, this is Angry Orchard, it’s like bougie apple juice. It’s not _fine_ and it, like an edible arrangement, is tacky and immature. Also delightful, but totally not the point.” 

 

David frowns at the cider and shrugs, “I’m only trying to help.”

 

—

 

She doesn’t send an edible arrangement, but she does send a basket of expensive jams and cheeses. With a handwritten note in her best cursive. With an apology. And some over priced cabernet from some stupid vineyard in Napa. She briefly wonders if Regina has ever been to wine country. Mainly because Regina has a wine cellar that makes Emma’s head spin.

 

She receives no thank you text and no acceptance of apology.

 

—

 

“Maybe you should try something a little more unconventional,” is Henry’s suggestion. He’s got a new stack of comic books, no doubt a gift from his other mother, and he’s buried his nose in one on the couch while Emma obsesses over her message thread (or lack thereof) with Regina.

 

“Like what?” Emma barely looks up, still reading messages from the beginning of the previous month. “Like a new saddle?”

 

Henry shakes his head and doesn’t bother to even look up, “I’m sure that wouldn’t hurt, but not really what I was trying to say.”

 

“I’m gonna get her a new saddle.”

 

Henry shrugs, “Mom likes Hermés.”

 

Emma’s got the site pulled up on her iPad before Henry can say another word. “Shit, kid, these saddles are all upwards of seven grand!”

 

He shrugs again, turns the page of his comic book, “She likes nice things.”

 

—

 

It’s the saddle that does it.

 

“You did _not_ custom build an Hermés saddle and have it shipped to my home. You just didn’t do that. You _couldn’t_ have done that.”

 

Regina sounds frantic. Her voice is placed just a hair higher than usual and it sounds like she has to constantly remind herself to breathe. Slowly. Through her nose. While counting to five.

 

“Why couldn’t I have done that?”

 

“Because, Miss Swan! That is a nine thousand dollar investment for an _animal_.”

 

“It was eighty-five, actually,” Emma’s sitting at her desk, feet up on top of the pile of paperwork she’d been thinking about completing.

 

“You’re insane.”

 

“A thank you wouldn’t be too out of line at this point,” Emma feels the tension in her neck start to abate.

 

Regina sounds too dumbstruck to say anything rude after that and responds with a simple _thank you_ and hangs up.

 

There’s a tin of peanut butter banana brownies on Emma’s desk the next morning. They’re still warm and when she opens the fridge there’s a glass bottle of milk waiting for her too.

 

—

 

“You actually bought my mother an Hermés saddle,” Henry sits down across from Emma’s desk after depositing a brown paper bag in front of her. “You won’t even buy me 007 Goldeneye. What the hell.”

 

“Dude,” Emma reaches for the bag. “One, swearing isn’t cool.”

 

“You do it all the time.”

 

“I’m not cool,” she shrugs and finishes off the last brownie before opening the paper bag. “What’s this?”

 

“It’s from Mom,” he sets his backpack down on the floor and unpacks his own brown bag.

 

It’s dinner. Pork roast with some amazing orange glaze, green beans, and rice. Henry’s got his own too. It’s not until she’s got the meal laid out on her desk that she realizes Henry is unpacking a third bag.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“It’s _for_ Mom,” he looks at her, blank-faced and all-knowing. “She’s just finishing her meeting, said she’d be here in a few.”

 

“She’s eating with us? _Here_?” Emma’s neck tenses and she feels an oncoming headache.

 

“She’s trying to forgive you since you cleared out your bank account for that saddle. She’s right, you’re an idiot.” Henry stabs a piece of pork and lifts it from its rice bed. He inspects it thoroughly before bringing it to his mouth. “I mean, it worked, so, good for you. But that is 100% not what I meant when I said you should try something unconventional.”

 

“Shouldn’t you wait until your mom gets here to start eating?”

 

“I’m here, no need,” Regina breezes through the office, coat draped over her forearm, manila folders resting on top. She has her handbag in one hand and her cellphone in the other. “How was school?” she presses a kiss to the top of Henry’s head.

 

“Fine, I have permission slips and class information packets for you to sign after dinner,” he stops eating long enough to grin up at her. “And I finally have the full booklist for my English class.”

 

“Wonderful,” Regina deposits her purse and coat on David’s desk. “We’ll take a look at it.” She checks a few messages on her phone before she powers the thing off and drops it in her purse. “I see you managed to eat all of the brownies before dinner,” Regina pulls up an empty chair next to Henry.

 

“Peanut butter _and_ bananas? A dream come true,” Emma pats her stomach for good measure. “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

And then Regina smiles, and it’s small but it’s all for Emma.

 


	2. wine is a thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> movie night. wine. chatz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't even know what this is.

Regina is quiet through dinner. She takes small dainty bites and dabs the corners of her mouth with her napkin every so often. She listens intently when Henry speaks and looks at Emma with kind eyes. She’s soft and sweet against the harsh fluorescent lights and Emma hardly notices the one flickering near the window.

 

“Alright, Henry,” Regina is packing up the remnants of their meal. “It’s time to go. Say goodnight to Emma.”

 

He pulls on his coat slowly, loathe to leave, and Regina begins to gather the rest of her things. “Can Emma come over on Friday? It’s movie night and everything.”

 

Regina looks at her watch before slipping her arm into her coat, “I suppose so.”

 

“Cool,” Henry grins and wraps his arms around Emma’s waist. “See you later, Emma.”

 

“Night, Kid.” Emma strokes his hair, presses a quick kiss to the top of his head.

 

“See?” Henry whispers against her chest. “That saddle is your in.”

 

“Goodnight, Henry.”

 

Regina smiles softly, wraps a grey cashmere scarf around her neck. “We’ll see you Friday, Sheriff Swan.”

 

—

 

Friday comes too soon and the fall evenings in Maine are less beautiful, more freezing. Emma’s shivering on Regina’s doorstep, hands shoved into some god awful mittens from Mary Margaret.

 

Henry answers the door, in a Harvard sweatshirt and jeans.

 

“You already own college gear?” Emma shivers as she brushes past him on her way inside.

 

“Emma, how am I ever going to have something to aspire to if I don’t wear it on my clothing on a regular basis?” he rolls his eyes as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and holds out a hand for her jacket.

 

“Great,” Emma shrugs out of her jacket and stuffs the mittens into one pocket. “You’re like, not even thinking about college.”

 

Henry shrugs, “I will be someday. It’s comfortable and it was a gift, chillax. Come inside, Mom already opened a bottle of wine and she said I can’t start eating the garlic bread until you got here.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes and follows him into the kitchen.

 

Regina’s got a glass of wine in one hand, the other is stirring something in a large cast iron Le Creuset French oven. There’s a baking sheet of garlic bread resting on the counter near the stove and Regina looks quite pleased about something.

 

“Hey,” Emma follows Henry’s lead and sits down on an empty barstool at the kitchen island.

 

“Hi,” Regina gives a soft smile and pushes the open bottle of cabernet across the island with a fresh glass. “Help yourself.”

 

Emma does and watches as Regina moves about the kitchen. She’s in constant motion, slicing braciole, stirring sauce, wilting chard, and Emma notices how at peace she looks through it all. How there’s absolutely nothing keeping her spine so rigid or her shoulders so square.

 

“Henry, set the table?” Regina pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear and starts plating their meal. She’s deliberate and Emma watches the way her brow furrows in concentration as she places each slice of meat carefully atop a bed of pasta.

 

Henry’s up and in motion, taking each plate to the dining room with ease. He’s back for fistfuls of flatware and returns one final time to pour himself a generous glass of milk.

 

“Shall we?” Regina lifts her glass of wine from its place near the kitchen sink and allows Emma to walk ahead of her.

 

—

 

“It’s move night,” Henry explains as he dries dishes.

 

Emma had tried to insist upon washing but Regina wouldn’t hear it, so she’s sitting at one of the island stools again. “So what are we watching?”

 

“Well, I really wanted to watch The Godfather, I’m really into the Italian mafia,” Henry folds his dishcloth and sighs. “Mom said no.”

 

“It’s hardly appropriate,” Regina rolls her eyes.

 

“So we’re not watching The Godfather, got it.”

 

“Nor are we watching Goodfellas.”

 

“Jesus, kid, really?” Emma turns to look at Henry. “You’re like thirteen.”

 

“Mom was watching Mob Wives one night and I don’t know, it’s just really interesting. Like, it’s totally crazy that these guys could operate like they did and like, how can crime be organized? It’s totally chaos, like if you tried to rob a bank, that’s just chaotic and stupid. But they were calculated and _businesspeople_ , I mean, until Sammy The Bull snitched and—”

 

“You watch Mob Wives?” Emma turns an incredulous look toward Regina, who merely huffs and pours herself another glass of cabernet.

 

“Mom, Emma asked you a question.”

 

“I have seen an episode here or there,” Regina waves her free hand dismissively and shakes her head. “It’s not as if I binge watch.”

 

“Any organized crime I should know about as Sheriff of this fine town?” Emma grins.

 

Regina rolls her eyes and shoves the bottle of cabernet toward Emma, “Oh, stop it.”

 

“So,” Emma turns back to Henry. “What _are_ we watching?”

 

“ _Dracula: Dead and Loving It_.”

 

“We’re a Mel Brooks household,” Regina is leaning up against the counter with one hip, she’s still wearing her heels, but she’s rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and Emma can see the top of the lace and silk camisole beneath it.

 

“Didn’t see that coming,” Emma looks from Regina’s chest to their son.

 

“Great, so let’s watch some classic comedy,” he tosses his dishcloth on the counter and gives Emma a very overt wink. “You and Mom can share the couch.”

 

—

 

They do share the couch. And it’s the most cliched because all Emma wants to do is pull a first date yawn maneuver because Regina smells good and somewhere after Renfield starts eating bugs, Regina opened a bottle of merlot, so, Emma feels fairly invincible and a little cuddly.

 

Regina comments on Mina’s hair at some point after her second glass of merlot (fifth glass of wine total) and Emma can’t hold in her _I was a redhead once_. She also doesn’t miss the way Regina looks at her after that.

 

Henry is sitting on the floor in front of her, feigning total obliviousness, and sucking at it too, when Emma digs her big toe into his back. He retaliates with an elbow to Emma’s knee and she chokes back a yelp.

 

“Something wrong?” Regina looks over at them as she pours another half glass of wine.

 

“Nah, it’s all good,” Emma grins, hopes her teeth aren’t purple.

 

“Wonderful,” Regina turns back to the film, laughs at something awful and campy, and Emma’s jaw hangs open a little.

 

—

 

“You’re really gross,” Henry whispers as he hugs Emma goodnight. “Like stage five gross, make a move or get over it.”

 

“You’re a little shit,” Emma mumbles and moves to refill her glass. “Sleep tight. I hope all the bedbugs bite.”

 

“That’s a horrible thing to wish on someone. What with the reappearance of bedbugs on a subway car in Manhattan,” Regina bristles before she hugs Henry goodnight. “Sleep well, mijo.”

 

“Night, Mom. Te amo.”

 

They can hear him bounding up the stairs, skipping a step each time, and Regina shakes her head. “A baby elephant, that one.”

 

Emma laughs softly and tops off her glass. “Mel Brooks and Mob Wives. Unexpected.”

 

“It’s not as if you really know me, Emma.” Regina’s looking at her with half-lidded eyes and it’s clear that this glass of wine should be her last. 

 

“I mean, but I’d sort of like to,” Emma takes a large sip of merlot. “I mean, if that’s not weird.”

 

“Not weird, per se,” Regina shrugs in a decidedly out of character way. “I’m just not used to someone wanting to know me. I’ve lived a life in isolation. It’s very strange after all this time. Even with Robin, we didn’t seem to learn all that much about each other.”

 

She hasn’t spoken of Robin. Not yet.

 

“But weren’t you like… _soul mates_?”

 

“That meant we didn’t spend time getting to know each other, we just fell into each other I suppose. It all happened quite quickly.” Regina sighs, finishes the rest of her wine. “It just felt like that’s the way it was all supposed to be.”

 

“Kind of weird though, like, you’re in love with someone, but you don’t know the way they take their coffee, or the movies they watch on a Friday night.” Emma stretches her arms above her head and yawns. “But like, how did dating work in the Enchanted Forest?”

 

“I don’t really know,” Regina sighs again, heavy this time. “I never really did that.”

 

“Right,” Emma smashes her lips together, realizes her mistake too late. “Not like I really know what dating here is like.”

 

“You don’t date?” Regina sets her glass down on the coffee table and turns to lean her back against the arm of the couch. She kicked off her heels at the beginning of the movie and her toes are just peeking out of the legs of her dress pants. Her toenails are painted a deep burgundy and they’re too close to Emma’s thigh.

 

“Not really,” Emma finishes her wine and reaches forward to deposit her glass on the coffee table as well. “I saw some people here and there, but it’s not like I was trying to settle down with anyone. Just drinks or coffee. Never really dinner.”

 

“You didn’t want to get to know anyone.”

 

“Pretty much,” Emma agrees and wiggles her toes. Her socks don’t match. “Hey, can I sleep on your couch tonight? That wine did me in.”

 

Regina doesn’t hesitate when she nods, “I’ll get you some blankets.”

 


	3. emma. you weren't invited to lunch.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which emma is sweet. and regina is sort of an asshole but not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic has a mind of its own. i'm not really sorry about it. if you are, you can go.

Waking up on Regina’s couch should be weird. It should be weird and uncomfortable, but the couch is warm and the three blankets Emma is wrapped up in are unbelievably soft.

 

She smells bacon wafting in from the kitchen and she hears Henry from the hall, “Is Ma still here?”

 

She can’t hear Regina’s response, it’s just a low hum, and a minute later Henry is in the doorway, still in his pajamas. “Ma?”

 

“I’m up,” Emma yawns, stretches her arms above her head. “I’m up.”

 

“Mom’s making breakfast,” Henry shifts from one foot to the other and Emma cranes her neck in an effort to see what the fuck is going on with his slippers.

 

“Dude, are those Uggs?”

 

“They’re warm. Get over it,” Henry turns on one shearling-covered heel and walks back toward the kitchen.

 

Emma finds Regina at the stove, tending to a baking sheet lined with foil. And bacon.

 

“Wait, you bake your bacon?” Emma’s rubbing sleep from her eyes and she might be half-asleep but she doesn’t miss the way Regina’s eyes linger on the sliver of stomach where her t-shirt rides up.

 

“It’s less of a mess,” Regina places three slices on a fresh plate.

 

“Mom also drizzles them with maple syrup halfway through,” Henry is using a slice of bacon to point at the jug of syrup on the counter. “It’s _unreal_.”

 

Regina rolls her eyes but her smile gives her away. “Eggs, Miss Swan?”

 

“Please,” Emma nods and shuffles toward the coffee maker.

 

“Mugs are in the third cupboard to your left,” Regina brushes past, black silk robe tied loosely over a silk pajama set the color of the god damn merlot they drank last night. She’s got a tiny smudge of mascara under her right eye and Emma thinks she can’t possibly be more beautiful. But then she smiles again and Emma’s fucked.

 

—

 

It’s Monday morning when Emma knocks on Regina’s front door again. She has a bag of fresh croissants and two lattes balanced carefully between her left arm and her chest. She hears Regina fussing with something on the other side of the door before it opens and she holds up one finger. She’s on the phone, looking rather irritated and steps aside for Emma to come in.

 

“No, I specifically told you the last time we spoke that I would absolutely not—” Regina pushes the door shut behind Emma and flips the lock before bringing her hand to her temple. She sighs and motions for Emma to follow her into the study. “Snow, I am _not_ — It’s simple really, if you took a moment to _read_ the — No, I will _not_. You’re pushing your luck, Snow White. I said e-mail me the budget proposal and I’ll look it over. I will by no means do it for you. Now, I have to go, your daughter is here.”

 

There’s a pause.

 

“No, I don’t know what she wants. Goodbye, Snow.” Regina hangs up the phone and looks from Emma’s face to the bounty still squished between her arm and torso. “Good morning, Miss Swan.”

 

“I brought croissants and stuff,” Emma offers one of the Granny’s To Go cups to Regina.

 

“Thank you,” Regina takes the cup and places the phone back in its cradle on her desk. “Your mother needs more mayoral help,” she rolls her eyes and takes a slow sip of her latte. “Is there lavender in this?”

 

Emma nods and sets her latte and the pastry bag on the coffee table, “Ruby’s trying something new. Honey too.”

 

Regina takes another sip, “Not awful. Sweet, but not entirely awful.”

 

“She’s a queen though, doesn’t that mean she’s used to leading and… mayor-ing?” Emma places a croissant on a napkin and places it on Regina’s desk next to her laptop.

 

Regina shakes her head and sits down at her desk, “Two entirely different things. She’s going about everything as if she’s running a kingdom.”

 

“Isn’t she though?” Emma puts up both hands in surrender when Regina glares at her. “I’m not defending her.”

 

“Sounds an awful lot like that,” Regina sips her latte and opens up her computer. “Your mother is emailing me the budget she was supposed to submit for revision last week. Do forgive me for being rude.”

 

“No worries, I get it.”

 

Regina smiles and reaches for her glasses.

 

“Do you do this often? Help my mom, I mean.”

 

“Not when I don’t have to.”

 

—

 

An hour later, Emma is still on the couch in Regina’s study. Though she’s gone from sitting to laying and Regina laughed at her fuzzy socks. Regina is still working, editing Mary Margaret’s budget proposal, writing notes on a yellow legal pad. Emma’s got her phone out, scrolling through TMZ like it’s her job.

 

“You’re not shirking your official duties to lay on my couch, are you?” Regina pauses in her writing and looks over her glasses at Emma.

 

“No, David’s taking today. Unless someone commits some felony. But I’m guessing that’s not gonna happen.” Emma shrugs and clicks on some stupid link to a story about Kanye West. “Since when do you wear glasses?”

 

“None of your business,” Regina pushes the frames further up her nose and continues to write. She writes quickly, pen pressed tight to the paper.

 

“Maybe I’ve got a librarian fantasy.”

 

Regina rolls her eyes, “Please, Miss Swan. I’m far more likely to believe you’ve got a penchant for swashbuckling and other such nonsense. You’re already into all that leather, it’s not hard to draw some sort of conclusion.”

 

“Gross,” Emma makes a face and presses the lock screen button on her phone before she sits up. “Firstly, I have absolutely no interest in any of the things that swashbuckling entails. Also, it’s a gross word. Secondly, liking badass leather jackets has absolutely nothing to do with S&M, lady.”

 

“And what would you know about either of those things?” Regina’s tapping her fancy fountain pen against the swell of her bottom lip and Emma turns her head to look.

 

“I know enough to prefer silk scarves to handcuffs and solid ground to the high seas,” Emma smirks.

 

“I see,” Regina tosses her legal pad onto her desk. “Librarians,” she repeats. “So Belle’s more your type?”

 

“If I was into chasing straight girls, maybe,” Emma shrugs, thinks about adding _that’s not what I’m doing here, right?_

 

Regina drops her pen on top of her abandoned legal pad, “You, Emma Swan, are an enigma.”

 

“That wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.”

 

Regina’s slow to remove her glasses, twirls them by one of the temples, “I’m not surprised.”

 

“If I wanted to surprise you, I’d probably talk about silk scarves a little more.”

 

“I have a feeling, Miss Swan, that would hardly be surprising,” Regina folds her glasses and sets them on her desk. She reaches for her croissant and breaks off the end, “You underestimate me, dear.”

 

—

 

Emma’s still laying on the couch at lunchtime. Regina had abandoned banter somewhere after the fifteen minute mark and returned to work.

 

“What’s for lunch?” Emma’s turned her attention to the Fluffington Post.

 

“I do not believe you were invited to lunch,” Regina pauses in her typing and looks over at Emma.

 

“I’m inviting myself. I brought you breakfast.”

 

Regina rolls her eyes and continues to type. Emma’s lulled by key clicks for a few minutes but there are only so many animals she can fawn over before her stomach gurgles.

 

“Seriously, can I order a pizza or are you cooking?”

 

Regina looks at her watch and sighs, “I suppose I’ll make something if you’re going to interrupt every five minutes.”

 

“It’s lunchtime.”

 

“I’m working.”

 

—

 

Regina slides a panini across the kitchen island, there’s a small helping of sea salt and black pepper potato chips and some leftover roasted cauliflower. There’s also a mini can of Diet Coke and a cookie.

 

Emma reaches for the cookie first.

 

“Predictable,” Regina picks up her sandwich and takes a dainty bite.

 

“You just can’t ever be surprised, can you?” Emma takes a less dainty bite and wipes crumbs off her lap.

 

“I’ll be surprised when you give me something to be surprised by.”

 


	4. emma catches up on regina's dvr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry gets sick. Emma watches Mob Wives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEPPPP. If you don't watch Mob Wives, I'm sorry. But this is my favorite thing for the Swan Mills family. Regina loves Mob Wives. Henry loves The Godfather.

Three days later, Henry comes down with the stomach flu. Regina, in a totally un-Regina-like manner, texts Emma for help. Emma shows up with a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine.

 

“Thank you,” Regina answers the door in leggings and a sweater. Her feet are bare and her pristine pedicure is now chipping. Emma can’t stop staring. “I don’t want to bother you, but he’s been having a hard time, I have a meeting in an hour and, of all the things I never thought I’d say to you, I need help.” She reaches out for the bag and steps aside so Emma can come in.

 

“Hey, not a problem,” Emma steps inside and toes off her boots near the door.

 

“There’s dinner for you in the fridge, Henry hasn’t been able to keep anything down, but if he gets hungry, there’s soup on the second shelf next to your plate.” Regina’s already headed into the kitchen with the groceries. “If you could take his temperature in about an hour, he’s been running a fever since last night.”

 

Emma nods and watches Regina sift through the bag, “Will do.”

 

“Thank you,” Regina sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “He’s been a little clingy, but he’s asleep right now.” She starts to unload the bag and Emma moves forward to stop her.

 

“No, no, I’ll do that. You go get ready. I’ll be fine down here. I’ll watch some Mob Wives and chill. You’ve got episodes DVRed, right?”

 

Regina is distracted, head in the fridge digging in the vegetable drawer, “Yes, they’re all—” she catches herself and turns to scowl at Emma.

 

“Knew it,” Emma grins.

 

—

 

Regina texts with instructions an hour after she leaves, informs Emma that the meeting will most likely go on past its intended end time, so Emma settles in on the couch. Henry’s fever hasn’t moved, but he’s feeling well enough to lay down on the couch after a bowl of soup.

 

“I watched some Mob Wives,” Emma yawns, reaches for her wineglass. “Actually pretty entertaining for a show about middle aged ladies from Staten Island.”

 

“Really entertaining,” Henry’s voice is hoarse from all the puking. “They aren’t just ladies from Staten Island, Emma. Their husbands and fathers and brothers weren’t just petty thieves, they were straight up mobsters. How is this not making sense to you?”

 

“Kid, what is the deal?”

 

“They beat each other up. In public.”

 

“The husbands, fathers, and brothers?”

 

“No,” he rolls his eyes. “The ladies.”

 

“I didn’t get that far,” Emma rolls her eyes back.

 

“You clearly never learned how to binge watch anything, and you watch more Netflix than anyone I know,” he sighs and reaches for the remote. “I’m starting you on Archer.”

 

“Does your mom know you watch Archer?” Emma raises an eyebrow.

 

“She must know. She can see her recently watched titles. It’s not like I’m hiding it. I’m a thirteen year old boy, what do you expect from me? Really, the two of you.” Henry sighs and presses play.

 

—

 

Regina comes home at nine. Henry is asleep again and managed to eat a few saltines before emptying his stomach before bed. Emma’s on the couch, halfway through another episode of Mob Wives when she hears the front door. She hears Regina moving through the house, upstairs to check on Henry, into the kitchen, back upstairs. The episode is just ending when she hears Regina’s voice from the doorway, “How was he feeling when he went to bed?”

 

“Not as crappy as before, only puked a few times,” Emma turns off the TV and yawns. “Who’s your favorite mob wife?”

 

Regina chuckles and Emma turns to look at her. She’s got a glass of wine in one hand, a plate of leftovers in the other. “Drita.”

 

“I would have figured Renee.”

 

Regina shrugs and moves around the couch to set down her plate. “Renee’s bark is worse than her bite. Drita’s at least going to follow through.”

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure, I think I watched Renee clock someone in the head tonight.”

 

Regina full out laughs then and sits down on the couch next to Emma.

 

“You know the kid’s watching Archer, right?”

 

“Yes,” Regina sighs and sips her wine. “I also know he went behind my back and watched The Godfather.”

 

“Sneaky little shit.”

 

“Something like that,” Regina slips off both of her shoes and puts her feet up on the coffee table. “I suppose you believe rules are meant to be broken though, don’t you, Miss Swan?”

 

“Not his rules. Not his rules made by you.”

 

“He’s a teenage boy. I expected things to get worse once he entered his teens. I’ll take his infatuation with the Italian mafia over a drug addiction any day. He goes to school, he does his homework, he’s well-mannered. For the most part.” Regina is pushing some wilted spinach around he relate with her fork.

 

“For the most part?” Emma reaches for the remote.

 

“You know exactly what I mean by that. Don’t play coy, Miss Swan, it’s not cute.” Regina rolls her eyes and starts pushing the spinach into the sweet potatoes. “You know Henry, and he thinks he’s being subtle but you and I both know he’s part of the reason my horse is saddled in Hermés. Which, by the way, is still grotesque and extravagant.”

 

“First of all,” Emma raises her index finger, “I’ve been told I am dead sexy when I’m being coy.”

 

Regina snorts.

 

“Secondly,” she points her finger at Regina, “You kept the saddle, so I think that says more about you than it does about me.”

 

“It would be rude to return a gift. I think that says more about my beliefs in etiquette than anything else.” Regina finally lifts some of the spinach to her lips and takes a bite.

 

“Did you eat the cheese and drink the wine?” Emma mutes the TV.

 

Regina sighs, exasperated and almost fond, “Yes, dear, I did. The jams were lovely as well. And your choice of cabernet was surprising and exceptional.”

 

“That’s about as close to a thank you as I’m going to get, isn’t it?” Emma rolls her eyes and sets the remote back on the couch, between the two of them. “Have you ever been to wine country?”

 

The question catches Regina by surprise and she turns to look at Emma. “No, no. I haven’t really traveled much.” She sets her plate on the coffee table and reaches for her wine.

 

“I haven’t specifically been to a winery or anything, but geographically, I’ve been there. The sun’s nice. You might like it.” Emma reaches for the remote again, but Regina’s hand on top of hers stops her.

 

“Don’t turn that back on, we’re talking.”

 

“I didn’t know we did that.”

 

“Things change,” Regina shrugs and places her hand back in her own lap. “I don’t know when I’d ever see Napa. I’ve never had the urge to travel.”

 

“Haven’t you ever wanted to get away from here?”

 

“Yes, but it’s a prison of my own making, I suppose. I always wanted to take Henry places, show him things, but I wouldn’t know where to start. I know this world now, but at the same time, I don’t know it at all.” Regina sips her wine, looks out the window at the snow-covered block. “You should take him places, show him things.”

 

“I wouldn’t do that without you,” Emma follows Regina’s gaze, takes in the winter night. It’s not quite December, but the snow has already fallen in Storybrooke. “Not anymore. That’s not who we are.”

 

“No, I suppose it’s not,” Regina turns back to look at Emma, and she’s almost smiling.

 

“You wanna watch some Mob Wives, Drita?” Emma grins, holds up the remote.

 

Regina pretends to be irritated, but she’s smiling while she rolls her eyes. “Why not.”

 


	5. trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina cooks and they talk about parenting. Like productively. Like two adults.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIT'S GETTING REAL Y'ALL.
> 
> This is, as always, for Mari. Who is ruining my life. All the time.

“Your son is quoting Goodfellas at me,” Emma has the phone in one hand, a jar of olives in the other. Henry is just a few feet away looking at the pickles with mild interest.

 

“God,” Regina sighs. “I’ve spoken to him about this multiple times. Which line was it this time?”

 

“A mild one, I promise. _What am I? A schmuck on wheels?”_

 

“I am assuming you're calling for a reason other than that,” Regina sounds almost amused.

 

“Yeah. You said you needed stuffed olives. Stuffed with what? Garlic cloves, pimentos — _ugh_ , blue cheese?” Emma glances over to where Henry had been standing, he’s moved on to the next aisle.

 

“Pimentos would be fine.”

 

“What exactly is it that you're making?” Emma tosses the jar of olives into the cart.

 

“You’ll like it, I promise. It’s mild. And please, don’t forget the rice.”

 

“Fine,” Emma shoves her phone back into her pocket and sets off in search of Henry.

 

—

 

The kitchen smells _amazing_ and Emma hefts a grocery bag onto the counter.

 

“Hey, I think I got everything."

 

Regina turns from her place at the stove with a nod, “Thank you. Do you mind opening the olives?”

 

“Olives, got it.” Emma roots around in the bag for the jar. She twists the top and offers the jar to Regina. 

 

She’s got a large Dutch oven already on the stovetop and she removes the lid once Emma is next to her. “Ropa vieja,” she nods toward the pot.

 

“Argentina?” Emma reaches into the jar for an olive and pops it into her mouth.

 

“Good guess, but Cuba," Regina replaces the lid and pours Emma a glass of wine. “For your trouble." She trades Emma the jar of olives for the glass.

 

“Sweet,” Emma hops onto the counter next to the sink. “I’m warning you now, Henry coerced me into buying double stuffed Oreos."

 

“Of course he did,” Regina rolls her eyes. “If you at least bought some chunky peanut butter to go with them, I’ll be far less offended.”

 

“Chunky peanut butter? You? Who knew?” Emma swings her feet.

 

“Mm,” Regina nods. “Nice socks.”

 

They’re orange, they have foxes on them. Emma shrugs.

 

—

 

“So,” Regina sets down her wine glass. They’re halfway through dinner. “My Netflix history has certainly been interesting."

 

Henry coughs.

 

“It seems like someone has been awfully interested in films about the Italian mafia.”

 

Emma snorts, "Mob Wives."

 

Regina ignores her.

 

“It's not like I’m going to _become_ a mobster,” Henry says around a mouthful of brisket.

 

"Please don't talk with your mouth full.”

 

He chews, swallows, takes a sip of milk. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

“You’re right, it's not. However, the fact that you’ve broken several of my rules remains to be seen," Regina takes a dainty bite of rice.

 

“I never said it was okay," Emma interjects, points a fork at Henry.

 

“You never said it wasn’t,” Henry points his fork right back.

 

“ _Children_ ," Regina rolls her eyes and sits back in her chair. “I know you went to Ava and Nick’s and watched Poltergeist, but there are reasons I’ve chosen to put restrictions on what we watch at home. What _you_ watch at home, Henry. There are conversations I’d like to have with you about the media you’re taking in, but some of them I had hoped to have when you were a bit older.”

 

“What’s wrong with a little DeNiro?” Henry pouts.

 

“Well, for one thing, the language, for another, the violence.”

 

“I just want to interrupt for a second,” Emma rests an elbow on the table and Regina sighs. “It’s not like Henry hasn't been subjected to a lot of weird real life fairytale violence that is only supposed to exist in books and movies. So I am a little confused about this entire conversation.”

 

Regina stops chewing to stare at Emma.

 

“We aren’t raising a sociopath who can’t tell the difference between right and wrong. It’s not like I didn’t drop an f-bomb when I dropped that jar of olives in the baking aisle earlier. I get that you want to protect Henry from all this shit, but Regina, he’s seen it all.” Emma sits back with her wine.

 

“Are you also going to give a speech about how rules are meant to be broken?”

 

“Nah, that’s not so cool. Maybe don’t break rules, maybe talk about why they exist and why they shouldn’t exist. But like, he goes to school, does his homework, eats his vegetables, what more do you want?”

 

“Are you guys really _just_ starting to talk about productive parenting?” Henry scrapes his fork across his empty plate. “Can I have seconds?”

 

“Of course, mijo," Regina stands and reaches for his plate. “Emma? Thirds?”

 

—

 

“You know,” Emma reaches for another Oreo. “Maybe we should talk more about parenting.”

 

Henry is upstairs doing his homework and she and Regina have moved to the living room.

 

“I suppose we should,” Regina scoops up some peanut butter with the other half of her cookie.

 

“We’ve never really done that because we’ve been too busy fighting or saving the day, but maybe we should be on the same page more. Like, the rules at my place and yours should be more consistent, right? He should have to clean his room both places and be held accountable and everything, right?” Emma splits her Oreo in half and licks the cream off one side. "He should have more consistency.”

 

“How mature of you, Emma.” Regina takes a small bite of her cookie and smirks.

 

“Oh, come on, don’t be an asshole."

 

“I’m sorry, is that what I’m doing?” Regina looks up in feigned innocence.

 

“You know it is. I’m trying to be a grown up.” Emma chomps down on the half of her cookie that isn’t still covered in cream.

 

“Your socks are telling me a different story,” Regina’s got that look in her eyes and Emma coughs.

 

“Jesus, like you don’t own at least one pair of fuzzy socks.”

 

“I don’t and that is a ridiculous notion."

 

“Don't your feet ever get cold?”

 

“That’s what slippers are for, Emma. Not to mention wool.”

 

“You own shearling-lined black leather boots too, don’t you?”

 

“Of course, dear. This is Maine after all."

 

Emma rolls her eyes. “Can you be serious about this for a second though?”

 

Regina sighs and reaches for her wine. "Yes, I most certainly can. I agree, Henry’s rules should be more consistent, and I do think you and I should have a conversation or two about the way we would like to parent him both separately and together.”

 

“I mean, what have his rules been?” Emma finishes one half of her cookie.

 

“Well, he does a thorough clean of his room every Sunday afternoon that he’s with me. Dusting, vacuuming, all of that. I believe he should know how to do all of this things for his own space so that he can one day manage a home. I think he should have equal responsibilities with a partner should he choose to have one someday, but if he doesn’t, he should still know how to keep a home. He is to keep his room tidy during the week, however, along with the things he keeps in common spaces of the house like his video games and outerwear, miscellaneous items.”

 

“Miscellaneous items," Emma repeats, gives Regina a look.

 

“Oh, hush.” She rolls her eyes and continues. “He is allowed the time before dinner to play video games, read for pleasure, watch TV, what have you. After dinner it’s homework, a shower, and if there’s time before bed, he is allowed to do with that time what he pleases. His bedtime has been 9:30 lately, but on the weekends that has been lax. He has a flexible curfew of 9:30-10 on the weekends. And an hour and a half of screen-time per day unless it’s movie night or some other such event.”

 

“Uh huh,” Emma nods through a mouthful of cookie.

 

“I have purposefully chosen to give him limitations with his video game selection and choice of entertainment simply because I believe there are some things he doesn’t need to be so aware of and exposed to all the time. I don’t want him quoting Goodfellas or The Godfather, simply because they're adult films with adult concepts and I love that he wants to learn and has interests, but he’s young, Emma. There’s so much time for all of that when he’s a teenager. Archer is just crass and I don’t want my child being so exposed to that kind of humor. Not yet. I agree with what you said at dinner, I do think it’s productive to discuss the things he’s viewing in a constructive way, which is what we did when he came home from a sleepover having seen Poltergeist. And it’s what we will continue to do. But sex and violence are things that I wanted to deal with when they came up for him, in his life, not because he saw them in a movie. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

 

Emma nods, swallows the rest of her Oreo. “I understand, but I think the conversations should happen before they come up in his life. What if he’s in a situation and he doesn’t understand or doesn’t know what all of it means. That’s how shit happens, right?”

 

“Yes, but —”

 

“No, Regina. He’s not as young as either of us want him to be anymore. He’s growing up like, really fast, and he’s going to start having confusing feelings about himself in a different way soon, and he’s going to be going through puberty, and I think it’s better to discuss it before it’s already happening so that he knows it’s safe to talk to us, that he knows it’s normal and that we’re here for him. Like, no one did that for me, and no one did that for you, and look how fucked up that was, right?”

 

Regina’s quiet for a while, her hand tightens around her wine glass, and she looks anywhere but at Emma. 

 

“He’s not us, he’s not going to be either of us in that way, but I think about what my life would have been like if someone had explained puberty or sex or bullies or whatever the fuck. Because to hear it from another kid, or an adult with foggy motives, or to not hear it at all, then he’s gonna suffer with it and make mistakes he doesn’t need to make. Just think about what I'm saying, okay? I agree with most of your rules, I want to enforce most of your rules, but I also want to talk about what can change, what’s flexible, what _has to be_ flexible as he gets older.”

 

Regina looks at her finally and her eyes are sort of glassy and soft, “You’ve changed so much. Do you know that? You think about things you wouldn’t before. You consider all three of us now, instead of just him or just you or just me.”

 

“That’s what it is now though, isn’t it? The three of us? That’s who all of this affects.”

 

Regina’s smile is so soft and so delicate, “Yes, it is. It does.”

 

Emma can’t help it, she reaches across the space between them and grasps Regina’s hand in her own. “I know we’re really different, but I want us to be able to give him some of the same stuff too.”

 

Regina’s sort of breathless when she answers, “Me too.”

 


	6. the parking lot in front of the middle school

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you going to kiss me, Emma?”
> 
> Emma reaches her free forward, rests it against Regina’s hip, and laughs. “We’re in the fucking parking lot in front of the middle school."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this escalated quickly.
> 
> i also had the thought of like, what if, instead of killing off zelena, she became the science teacher and was all ms. frizzle about shit. but that's really for another story.
> 
> also i realize ms. frizzle is not being frizzly. but she's talking to parents, not a group of kids. so like. I'M SORRY JUST PLEASE UGH. UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M TRYING TO DO.
> 
> okay, bye.

“Parent-Teacher conferences are on Friday," Henry flops down face-first onto Emma's bed.

 

“I know, your mom and I will both be there.” Emma has been working on a few formal requests for the sheriff’s department for the better part of two hours.

 

“Great,” Henry’s voice is muffled by the comforter.

 

“Are you letting me know because there's about to be some sort of information I’m going to be unprepared for?” Emma closes her laptop and looks at the back of Henry’s head.

 

“No.”

 

“You didn’t write a paper about Goodfellas, right? Because that would totally freak out your mom."

 

“God, can you guys just let it go?” Henry squirms.

 

“Be glad your mom hasn't given you The Talk yet, it’s on her list of things to do.”

 

“Ugh, gross,” he rolls onto his back and looks up at the ceiling. “I know how sex works.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I’m really sure.”

 

“How sure?”

 

“Sure enough that we totally do _not_ need to have this conversation."

 

Emma shrugs, “Pretty sure Regina isn't going to give up as easily as I'm about to.”

 

“Awesome."

 

—

 

“Conferences are on Friday,” Regina hitches her hip up onto the diner stool. “I know we discussed this already, I just want to confirm that you’ll be there at two.”

 

"I'll be there.” Emma sips her coffee.

 

“Great,” Regina nods.

 

“What can I get you, Regina?" Ruby appears on the opposite side of the counter with Emma’s breakfast.

 

“A double latte and a slice of quiche,” Regina nods, her eyes on Emma’s plate. “A side of bacon too.”

 

“For here?”

 

Regina sighs and sets her purse down on the counter. “I suppose so.” She turns back to Emma before Ruby even has a chance to turn away. “I promised Henry we could go see a movie after dinner. Join us.” Her hand reaches up to tuck some of Emma's hair behind her ear.

 

“As long as it’s not Fifty Shades, I’m in.”

 

Regina tugs on a section of Emma's hair and rolls her eyes so hard Emma’s afraid they won’t come back.

 

“Sweet."

 

“He requested Into The Woods. Familiar territory for all, it seems.” Regina’s hand finds its way back to her lap.

 

Emma snorts, "Except no one here sings.”

 

“That’s entirely untrue. Your mother does. To birds and small woodland creatures.” Regina smirks and rearranges her silverware properly. “And it's a bit more like caterwauling. Painful and quite possibly damaging to the eardrum, if you ask me.”

 

“Please, don’t, no.” Emma stabs one of the peppers in her omelette and points it at Regina, “The imagery there is just a little more than I wanted.”

 

“Always wearing white, always with flowers in her hair. Always a few notes off pitch, too shrill to be considered anything but awful.”

 

“Jesus.”

 

“Caterwauling.”

 

“I am taking all of this with a grain of salt,” Emma groans. “Your bias is showing.”

 

“Oh, Emma. I meant it to,” Regina nods her thanks to Ruby when her latte is slid across the counter. “I thought you were adapting to my sense of humor."

 

“Key word: _adapting_. Your sense of humor is always surprising and never what I expect.” 

 

“I’m trying to keep you on your toes,” Regina humphs and sips her coffee.

 

“Speaking of things that keep us on our toes," Emma sets down her fork.

 

“Smooth,” Regina rolls her eyes.

 

“When is that talk with Henry going down?”

 

“Well," Regina's eyes flash. "I thought I would wait until dinner on Friday night. That way, you’re not left out.”

 

Emma groans, “For real?”

 

“Oh, yes, Miss Swan. _For real_.”

 

—

 

"I don’t really get musicals,” Emma tosses her empty popcorn bag into the nearest trash bin. “Kobe.”

 

Regina rolls her eyes, “Just be thankful your mother gave up on her town-wide campaign to give The King and I a try back in 1996.”

 

“The King and I? The cast would be completely and inappropriately made up of — wow. You shut that one down?"

 

“Faster than you can say Rogers and Hammerstein."

 

“The school musical should be Into The Woods,” Henry slurps the rest of his soda. “I could play Jack.”

 

“Yes, you could, dear," Regina runs a hand through his hair.

 

“I just don’t get like, bursting into song,” Emma shrugs and rests her hand on Regina’s back as they head outside.

 

“It’s not bursting,” Regina sighs and buttons her coat. “They’ve been moved, their emotions are heightened, they’ve moved past simply speaking. It’s another form of expression. It’s not like this ridiculous High School Musical nonsense."

 

“Speaking as someone who has seen High School Musical?"

 

“She hated it. I personally found the basketball number pretty artful.” Henry shrugs.

 

Regina sighs and her eyes move heavenward.

 

—

 

Emma shows up late on Friday. She's far from graceful, taking long hurried steps down the empty hallways of the Storybrooke middle school. She throws open the classroom door with a bit more force than intended and she winces when Regina jumps in alarm.

 

“Jesus, I’m sorry.”

 

“For being late or for nearly hauling the door off its hinges?" Regina tugs down the sleeve of her blazer. Her voice softens, “I’m glad you made it."

 

"For both probably,” Emma unzips her coat, loosens the scarf around her neck. “Got caught up in some past-due paperwork. And there was some teenage truant tomfoolery happening in one of the alleys on Main.”

 

“Excellent alliteration, Sheriff Swan.” Valerie Frizzle motions to the empty chair next to Regina. “Ms. Mills was quite insistent we wait for you.”

 

“Great, thanks,” Emma shrugs out of her coat and hangs it on the back of her chair before taking a seat next to Regina. “Hi, sorry I’m late.”

 

“No matter, we’ll discuss it later.” Regina nods and covers Emma’s hand with one of her own. “Ms. Frizzle was telling me about Henry’s most recent field trip through the human body.”

 

“Through the human body?" Emma makes a face.

 

“Oh, yes!” Ms. Frizzle’s bright red curls bounce with an excited nod of her head. “He had quite the experience. Was particularly taken by the journey through the stomach. I think next semester, I’ll take them through one of Mr. Webster’s dairy cows! Four stomachs!”

 

“Right," Emma nods. “So, Henry’s doing well?”

 

“Yes. Henry is an exceptionally bright young man. Quite advanced in his knowledge of literature and his in-class writing assignments have been particularly enjoyable. He does, however, seem to struggle with a bout of perfectionism when he works.”

 

“Wonder where he gets that,” Emma mumbles. But it’s light, teasing, Regina can't help but roll her eyes.

 

“He’s unbelievably creative, his short stories are full of intrigue and delight, and quite often based in his reality. My observation is that he spends a great deal of time editing and rephrasing, possibly nervous about the outcome of whichever story he has decided to tell.”

 

“May I ask what he’s been writing about?" Regina sits up a little straighter, removes her hand from Emma’s.

 

“Well,” Ms. Frizzle opens the folder in front of her. “Most recently, he has been writing about the two of you.”

 

“Oh?” Regina’s eyebrow lifts.

 

“Nothing to be too concerned about, I don't think. He’s given you both aliases, character names, but his intent is clear. He’s quite gifted really, Ms. Mills. I wanted to give you some information about young adult writing seminars for the summer.”

 

“Have you spoken to Henry about this?”

 

“Oh, of course. He was quite thrilled about the idea. I think it would be good for him to meet other young people with an interest in storytelling.” She nods, pulls a pencil from behind her ear and taps the eraser against her chin. “Henry’s math and science skills are quite satisfactory as well. He’s been moving through the lessons with few struggles and quite enjoyed our unit on genetics.”

 

“It’s the mechanics of the thing,” Emma nods and her left arm comes up to rest on the back of Regina’s chair. “He’s good with puzzles and that sort of stuff.”

 

“Henry is an all around gifted student, he excels in all he puts his mind to and I have noticed he is reticent to rest until he’s reached his end goal. I would encourage you both, however, to discourage perfection. Allow Henry to be comfortable making more mistakes, to let his work come in its true form.” Ms. Frizzle smooths the skirt of her alphabet-patterned dress. "His natural ability and instincts will serve him well, don’t let him stifle those.”

 

“Wonderful,” Regina nods.

 

“Is there anything either of you would like to discuss with me?”

 

“How’s Henry doing socially?” Emma leans back in her chair, smiles when Regina's hand comes to rest just above her knee. “He's getting along with other kids and all that?”

 

Ms. Frizzle nods, “Oh, yes. Henry gets along quite well with his classmates. He is, however, more of an observer than a leader. He doesn’t always want to dive in head-first.”

 

“Yeah, he likes to make an assessment of things first, kind of get a feel for stuff. I don’t think it’s all so bad. He’s like, instinctual when he really has to be.” Emma turns to smile at Regina when Regina squeezes her leg. “He processes differently, he’s at a really different place than a lot of his peers. Being invited to be a part of things or go to sleepovers is sort of new for him here. His relationships with a lot of these kids have changed a lot in the past few years, you know? I just wanna make sure, you know, he's being invited and being included and like, isn't getting into fights or being left behind.”

 

“Oh, not at all. He’s been playing soccer with a lot of the other boys at recess lately. He is most certainly not getting into any fights, Sheriff Swan.”

 

“Cool," Emma smiles, relaxes into her seat and turns to Regina. “What about you?”

 

“Well,” Regina gives a small smile in return. “I suppose I’m quite satisfied with all of this information. I'm pleased Henry is doing so well and that he’s enjoying himself and his peers. He’s always done well in school and I’m glad he’s coming into his own. Thank you Ms. Frizzle. I believe that's all.”

 

“Well, thank you for coming in. Henry is a delight to have in class.” Ms. Frizzle smiles, closes her folder. “Have a wonderful weekend.”

 

—

 

“What does she mean, allow Henry to be comfortable making more mistakes?” Regina has her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat as they walk out into the parking lot. “Are we supposed to be encouraging him to do less than his best?”

 

“Is that what you took away from that whole thing?” Emma turns to look at her as they walk. “She’s saying Henry tries really hard not to make any mistakes, that he might be stressing himself out thinking he needs to be perfect. Like you have really high expectations because you want him to have all the opportunities he can. That’s a really shitty way to phrase that, because I'm not at all saying it's your fault and it sort of sounded like that. Because like he's also the son of the Savior and that’s a big fuckin’ capital S, right? Like, maybe he feels like he can’t make mistakes for the fear of disappointing us or the people who look to us for whatever, right?”

 

Regina sighs as they reach her car, leans her back against the driver's side door. “So what do we do about that?”

 

“I don’t really know. But we’ll figure it out. Find a way to let him know there’s no pressure, he’s enough. He always has been and will be enough.”

 

“I’ve always tried to be mindful of that. To let him know that.”

 

“I know you have. He knows you have. But sometimes the things you know and the things you feel don’t always come together quite right. We’ll help him.” Emma rests a hand on Regina’s arm. “You’re a good mother. Even when you had a hard time, you did the best you knew how, better than was demonstrated for you. You know that deep down, I know you do.”

 

Regina closes her eyes and gives a single nod of her head in response. “You’re coming over tonight?”

 

“Yep, wouldn’t miss it.” Emma lets her hand drop, but her fingertips brush down the length of Regina's arm on the way down. Regina hooks Emma’s first two fingers with her own before they can slip away.

 

“Thank you,” Regina says softly, opens her eyes to look at Emma.

 

“You're welcome. You know. Anytime.” She leans in to press a kiss to Regina’s cheek. “I’ve gotta go finish some stuff at the station, I'll be over before dinner.” Her fingers are still hooked in Regina’s.

 

“Did you just kiss my cheek?” there’s a hint of a smile in Regina’s voice.

 

“Uh, yeah. Shit. That's -- is that cool?”

 

Regina chuckles, low and sweet, and leans in to press her lips to the corner of Emma's mouth. “It’s _cool_.”

 

“ _Shit_.”

 

Regina’s still so close. Emma can feel her breath, warm against her skin, and Regina's lips brush against hers. “Are you going to kiss me, Emma?”

 

Emma reaches her free forward, rests it against Regina’s hip, and laughs. “We’re in the fucking parking lot in front of the middle school."

 

“If you won’t, I will. And then I’ll owe Henry five dollars.” Regina pushes herself off the car, against Emma.

 

“Only five? The little shit.”

 

“ _Emma_.”

 

Emma grins and pecks Regina on the lips, chaste and quick. "I'll see you tonight.”

 

Regina’s eyes widen and she reaches up to grab the collar of Emma’s jacket before she can step away.

 

“What?” Emma grins, wraps her arm around Regina's waist fully. 

 

“I swear to god, Emma." Regina tugs at the collar of her jacket and brushes her nose against Emma’s.

 

“Is it worth sacrificing five bucks?" Emma teases, presses her hips tight to Regina’s.

 

Regina doesn’t respond, only juts her chin forward enough to take Emma’s bottom lip between her teeth.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” it’s muffled against Regina’s lips and she can feel Regina smirking.

 

And then Regina kisses her, really fucking kisses her, and it’s all lips and tongue and _jesus_ , it’s _everything_. Emma kisses back, holds Regina close, and when they part she can’t help the, “ _God, you’re sweet_ ,” that falls out.

 

Regina’s laugh rumbles against her and her hand comes up to wipe a smudge of lipstick from Emma’s lips, “I’ll see you tonight, Emma. Don't be late.”

 

“Right, yeah. Great.”

 

Regina pulls back and opens the door of her car. “I told Henry we could watch The Godfather. Special treat.”

 

“Are you gonna make me an offer I can’t refuse?" Emma watches as Regina gets into her car, and damn it, even then, she's all legs.

 

“I might,” Regina smirks up at her, eyes bright and lipstick smudged.

 

“I’ll see you in a couple hours," Emma smiles and closes the door.

 

Regina smiles up at her and Emma heads across the parking lot to her own car. She stops when she hears Regina's voice.

 

“Oh, don’t forget,” Regina’s got her window rolled down. “There's that conversation we said we'd have with our son.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

“Yes, that.” Regina rolls up the window and smirks as she drives away.

 

“ _Fuck_.”

 


End file.
